“Hm.”
They’d find out the truth sooner or later – preferably later, after Vern unearthed the answers to his questions. In the meantime, Nadraken provided an excellent scapegoat.
The doors to the Queen's Wing beckoned. Magdus stopped as they turned the corner. He wasn't fool enough to test the rose guards.
Vern headed straight to Anais’ bedroom, barely acknowledging Jerome’s bow. The captain had failed. He wasn't at fault, not anymore than Vern himself. Convincing the stubborn man otherwise wasn't a task Vern had the time or space for.
His daughter remained where he'd left her – in bed, her eyes closed, her skin so very pale. Only the faint rise and fall of her chest signified life still ran in her veins. His steps slowed.
Bent over a table, Octavius shook his head. “No change. But Laureline finished testing the vial and wine.”
Across from him, the lady calmly sipped a cup of tea. “I believe it's mandrake, primarily. Common enough for anyone to dig up. The gardens have a few of the flowers. Its sweet taste could easily go unnoticed in wine, and the symptoms are much like being drunk.”
He didn't need a lecture on poisons. “How much was in the wine?”
She swirled her cup, staring into the liquid. “She's strong. The vial wasn't empty.”
“That doesn’t answer my question.”
“What I meant, Vern,” Laureline looked up, “was that I think there is more to this. I think he must have been coerced.”
Octavius nodded in agreement.
“Coerced.” Vern tasted the word and found it not to his liking. “No, he was not coerced. Why not tell us? Every man has secrets, and I know all of his. I would place a bet on my daughter's life that he rode south. Nadraken has a hold on him.”
Somehow. Castien was an orphan. He had no attachments to the House of Shadows; a few inquiries confirmed that the courtesans considered him too arrogant and competitive. His rebel friends had been distant since Damon's death.
So how had Nadraken convinced him to defect?
Vern brushed back a strand of her hair. “I'd like a moment alone with her.”
The healer and lady shared a glance, then removed themselves from the room.
Pale, overwarm cheeks met his fingertips. The gleam of sweat clung to her forehead. He wiped her skin with a moist cloth, sat on the bed, and held her hand.
Laureline was right. His daughter was strong. She always had to be, forced from too young an age to fight, to train, to pretend. But he made sure she smiled. He held her when she cried.
Anais would wake. It was the only option. How long it took, an hour or a day, was of no import. She would wake. She would heal.
And he would be here to make sure her heart healed, as well.
In an hour, he would need to give the council an answer. Yes, she was alive. Yes, of course, they knew who the poisoner was. The Queen would decide the punishment.
When she woke.
He remembered Jana’s funeral, could never forget it. A royal funeral was a pyre. All the world would burn if he had to light his daughter's.
Chapter 10
Castien
Dark red and captivating, a nine-pointed star rose on the horizon. Unlike the standard symbol of Nadraken that flew from flags and perched on the parapets of castles and churches, this one was made of solid stone. The largest star in the nation sat atop the tallest tower, the carving shining in the evening sunlight. The star was a beacon that called him home.
The star was a nightmare that haunted his soul.
An inexplicable whisper of pure rage shuddered through him. The little voice from the dark corners of his mind screamed. Chains clanked, sweat broke out on his back, and his heart raced. The summer sun and exhaustion from traveling was catching up to him. He had been riding all day.
Chills shook his body by the time the city’s gates came into view. Night had fallen. Torches lit the road and the walls, guiding him to the guards.
